You see, as I alluded to earlier on, sharing is part of Njabulo’s unwritten constitution. It defines us as a happy family. It shows unity and strengthens our imbibing bonds. Five guys flogging a single Eskimo is popular but not an unusual sighting. Unfortunately, our ‘friend’ the Pretender knew none of the clauses. We are certain, frictions are more common than the good times but they are washed away with another binge reunion.
So says the Pretender. After the cigar incident, he went on to pull his trendy buzzer and summoned his fellows: “I am just chilling here doing nothing. You can find me by this place called…” before he could end his transmission, a stout Babylonian, aptly called Goliath, grabbed his buzzer, switched it off and pocketed it pronto. The next invasion was his jewelry collection. They stripped him in a flash or more accurately pronounced in the Babylonian lingo: ‘skinned alive’.
This was about the time he saw us disappear. He had counted on me and my buddy, Buddy for a hand. But we always live by our secret survival tactics dictated by our own handbook: Mr Long & Buddy Survival Handbook. Sensing the danger, we plucked rule number one that we safely term: Mopping out of Danger Zone.
My buddy, Buddy ploughed into my ribs with his elbow. I did not make a sound. It was sign to get ready for takeoff. We drained out of the pub smoothly without making a gush. Once we popped outside, we squeezed our souls into Buddy’s jalopy and he immediately summed it into motion. Sensing the danger beyond us it did not disappoint. The jalopy huffed and puffed taking our innocent souls and intoxicated conscience out of the war zone.
Buddy sped through all the barricades ignoring the dangers that could have risen. Nobody uttered a word. Our half-quaffed Eskimos lay abandoned on the floor – forsaken for that time. The urge to sip had just been overtaken by events. After we reached a comfortably zone – far from the blazing guns and cracking whips, I told Buddy to take me home. For once he obliged.
It was a rare sighting for the Long family to see us return home so early on a Saturday night. I paraded my sober self to Mrs Long but she did not say a word. She waited for my buddy, Buddy to subside then she would be sure she it was not a nightmare. For a moment she thought we were back to pick and pack a few items and venture into the beckoning night again only to appear the morrow like the rays of a fresh Sunday morning.
She rolled the interrogation into motion: “So is everything alright. Its only 8 o’clock and you are already back. What happened out there?” You see, I don’t really open the flow of my outings. Not that there is nothing interesting to embark on, but it’s only that the ever-caring wife will always punctuate it with the same cautionary statement: “You should stop drinking now. I always tell you but you don’t listen.” For that reason, I never make our errands a topic – never!
It was only after a couple of mugs of steaming hot chocolate served by Mrs Long that I popped the event. It was unusual for me to be sipping a hot beverage on a day like this. I felt really let down. I told myself I will certainly fix those Babylonians on these plucking days. After chronicling the happenings, she too became sympathetic with the foreign Pretender. For the first time she showed empathy to a fellow imbiber.
“Maybe we should call the Binders,” was her pleading formulae. I reminded her it was too late for that. Probably the chubby Pretender had drunk his last drink on this earth. Knowing the Babylonians, they would defiantly wipe clean his traces.
She later resigned to bed, but I never snoozed a bit. I remained glued to the couch amusing my worries with the steaming chocolate. Later, I heard an ambulance whistling towards Njabulo’s according to my judgment. From that moment I knew the chubby foreign Pretender had survived the ordeal to tell his tall tale. It was only after I heard the emergency van leaving that I leapt into bed a relieved soul. He should have “made it”, I convinced myself. I promised myself we would visit him the next day in the wards to get all the highlights.
Early the following morning before we could plot another errand, Mrs Long summoned me. “We need to talk,” she said. “This place is no longer safe for us as a family. We must move away from here before something bad happens to one of us,” she declared. She did not mention ‘death’ but that was her main worry. We had discussed the topic before but it had always ended in promises. But after this mishap it was now an episode of serious contemplation.
Being a self-proclaimed democrat that I am, I called for a family election to decide our residing fate. Whichever side that was to garner the majority would automatically get everyone’s support. We set the vote in motion by raising one’s hand. To cut off my humiliation, I lost the elective procedure – 3 – 1. This was one the most democratic process that I have ever witnessed. The Longlets showed no hesitation to defeat their loving daddy. They too had become fed up with the nuisance churned by the Babylonians day in day out. With no opportunity for a ‘run-off’, we packed our worldly possessions ready for the next destination.
I will certainly miss our ‘home’ dearly for it harbours a load of untold memories. But if the Long family thought by romping to victory in the election they were plucking me away from Njabulo’s; my buddy, Buddy; the Pretenders and the Babylonians and my favourate Eskimo, they were mistaken because this is my ‘family’.
As the sun will definitely rise after dawn – I will be back!
Don’t miss another episode of Mzansi Tales next week for your weekend pleasure – only on Twenty4Sixty!
